


Dutch Courage

by Mareepysheepy



Category: South Park
Genre: Consent, Drinking, Foreplay, M/M, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareepysheepy/pseuds/Mareepysheepy
Summary: Stan wasn't Mysterion's usual kind of rescuee. But then, Mysterion's rescuees tend to be a little more interested in being saved, and little less interested in what's in Mysterion's pants.





	Dutch Courage

**Author's Note:**

> This was a kink meme fill!
> 
> "Mysterion becoming increasingly flustered by a drunk Stan’s advances, though he doesn’t DO anything abt them until stan is sober and much MUCH shyer"
> 
>  
> 
> I really like Stenny and I really enjoyed writing this!

 Kenny has no idea how he ended up with this dude’s hand on his ass.

It’s not unusual for him to be on the receiving end of various flirtations, both in uniform and out, but this guy seems to have slept through the lesson on the day they were teaching him about subtlety. Although fairness where it’s due, the guy smells like a brewery. Kenny doubts he could even spell the word _subtlety_ right now.

“Dude,” he growls out in the gravelly tone that he may or may not have liberated from the Batman films. The Christopher Nolan trilogy of course. Kenny is a serious superhero and he hasn’t got time for all that campy Tim Burton shit.

“Yeah?” His drunk rescuee slurs. It’s more of a _nyuhhh_ sound, but Kenny has spent more than enough of his life deciphering the amalgamation of vowels and grunts that alcohol brings. He has Pabst Blue Ribbon to thank for that.

“Your hand is on my ass,” Kenny states firmly. He doesn’t mention that the hand is squeezing. He’s a hero after all and heroes give the benefit of the doubt.

“You bet it is,” the guy grins. One eye is shut in a squint which doesn’t do much for his overall levels of sex appeal, but Kenny does at least appreciate that his face is attractive in a Hollywood, conventional sort of way. 

“Do you want to remove it?” Kenny shoots back. Despite wearing his underwear on the outside, people generally respect his superhero status. They don’t go around pawing at him unless the situation is entirely different to this one. A much more fun situation that Kenny is very much in control of. To say he’s unused to this is an understatement.

“Do I gotta?” The guy whines back. He’s still squinting.

“Well it makes carrying your fucking ass easier. Do you even have the slightest clue what’s going on around you?” Kenny snaps, momentarily forgetting to add the gruff detail to his voice. He worries for a moment that it’s too late and his credibility has been shot. But then he remembers that the dude hanging off his side probably can’t remember his own name.

Which reminds him… “Where do you live?” Kenny asks. When he receives no reply, he glances over to find the guy’s eyes fixed on the middle-distance. Jolting him uptight some more seems to help, or at least draw him back down to earth a little more. “Hey! Where do you live?”

“South Park,” the guy answers in a dreamy tone.

Kenny barely holds back a grunt of frustration. “We’re _in_ South Park,” he mutters. Figuring he’s not going to get much further than this, Kenny shifts him more upright in his arms. The motion causes that hand to finally drop from his ass.

After righting them both, Kenny finally has a moment to cast his eyes about, spying a nearby bench in moments. Sending silent thanks to no one in particular, he resumes their lurching stride, half- dragging the other guy towards the bench. As gently as possible, Kenny manoeuvres the guy onto the seat.

The guy goes willingly, or at least as willingly as a barely-conscious sack of potatoes would go anyway. Kenny straightens him up with a hand on each shoulder, and then moves smoothly to crouch on one knee.

“Nice,” the guy slurs, gracing Kenny with a dozy smirk.

Kenny’s eyes dart upwards in surprise. In doing so he’s quickly reminded of his position, crouched before a man who is spreading his legs in expectation.

Kenny is no virgin. He’s anything but, although his sexual exploits tend to reserved more for Kenny McCormick than they are Mysterion. He’s spent many a fine hour on his knees for men and women alike, in both public and private.

And yet something about this man makes his cheeks burn red beneath his mask. He can’t figure whether it’s the forwardness of the man before him, or the fact that he’s so utterly weak to black hair and blue eyes. It makes his heart race in a way he hasn’t felt for a while. Not since another head of dark hair and blue eyes set in a handsome face became so utterly unobtainable. 

“Don’t get excited,” Kenny says, pushing his voice down an octave, more for himself than for the guy on the bench. Professionalism seems safer than engaging. Kenny is still in uniform and right now his priority is getting this guy home.

“Too late for that,” the guy chuckles thickly, rubbing his hands slowly up his thighs.

 

‘ _Jesus Christ,’_ Kenny thinks in a way that isn’t at all like his usual self. It’s not the first time he’s rescued a hot victim. The guy is a drunken mess at that, but his jawline is something forged by God himself.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Kenny reaches out to pat at the guy’s jean pockets, running his hands along them. The guy coos unhelpfully and Kenny has to bat his hands aside when he goes to drag down his own fly. Eventually, _finally_ , Kenny finds the outline of a wallet and slips his fingers inside the pocket to wriggle it out.

“Dude, don’t take that,” the guy on the bench whines.

“I’m not,” Kenny mutters, flipping the wallet open and fingering through the array of cards until he finds what he’s looking for. “Stanley, huh?” He comments.

“Don’t call me that,” Stanley complains. “My dad calls me that. Asshole.” 

“So what do I call you then? Mr. Marsh?” Kenny asks. He’s still not on his feet yet. The view from this angle is pretty nice after all.

“Stan,” Stan replies firmly. “And you’re Mysterion.”

“I am,” Kenny agrees. “I fought off a couple of guys who were trying to mug you. You really shouldn’t be out alone like this.”

“I’m not a girl,” Stan snorts.

“I can see that,” Kenny nods. “But guys can be hurt too. And when you’re this drunk, that makes you a vulnerable target.”

“Is that why you put me on this bench?” Stan giggles. The sound makes Kenny do a double-take. Stan seems to ricochet between sultry and piss-drunk so quickly it makes his head spin.

“I put you on this bench to find out where you live,” Kenny answers. He kind of wants to get to his feet at this point, but remaining crouched helps him meet Stan’s gaze more easily.

“Oh yeah?” Stan smirks. He’s drunk and sloppy and his smirk is uneven and _fuck_ if it doesn’t make him look sexy as anything. “You wanna take me home?”

Kenny’s mouth pops open. He’s so used to being the one to deliver the suggestive lines that he’s momentarily taken aback and blushing like a virgin. “I-” he starts in his usual voice. He quickly rectifies it, jerkily injecting his gravelly bass tone into his voice. “It’s my duty to see you home safely,” he says instead.

“Then let me repay you,” Stan insists. Kenny goes to refuse when Stan adds in a hasty, “-with my dick.” 

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Kenny responds, rubbing a hand roughly through his hair, catching and pulling at stray strands as he does. “Are you _always_ this forward?”

“Nope,” Stan laughs thickly. “My girlfriend of way too fucking long just broke up with me, and I realised that I’m bi as fuck, and I was feeling pretty shitty and then you turned up and saved me, and you’re super hot.”

Kenny snorts as a feeling much like a bucket of cold water being dumped on him washes over him. He rises to his feet, standing over Stan and folding his arms. “So you want to get laid to forget a chick. That’s a real power play there,” he says dryly. Ludicrously, he feels kind of hurt. It’s a stunning revelation given that he doesn’t know much about this guy other than he’s a drunk loser looking for a rebound fuck, and that Kenny can easily source a way to address his own frustrations when he needs it.

“What? No!” Stan says, looking genuinely shocked. “I’m not like that. It’s just that you saved me, you know? No one’s saved me for a long time,” Stan says. His voice trails off towards the end, his drunken, coy tone giving way to something softer. A flash of vulnerability.

Kenny sighs and against his better judgement, reaches out to pat Stan’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, man. You seem like a nice guy when you’re not trying to get into my pants.”

Stan nods. “I _am_ a nice guy. And not like a _nice guy_ \- nice guy. Like. I’m not an asshole or anything. I don’t think anyway.”

The fluttery feeling from before comes back and hits Kenny right in the chest. “Don’t go throwing yourself at dudes who help you out. It can get you into trouble, okay?”

At Stan’s nod, Kenny holds his hand out in offer. When Stan takes it in his hand, Kenny braces himself for his body weight. But then Stan flips his hand over and presses his lips the back of his hand in the softest butterfly kiss like a brave knight would kiss a princess. Kenny feels his insides turn to goo. He’s suddenly reminded of another life, a long time ago.

Kenny feels his cheeks heat up again and he barely holds back from snatching his hand away. Seriously, what the _fuck_ is with him tonight. Normally he’d welcome the attention. Laugh it off.

But then nothing about Stan Marsh is like his usual rescuee. Kenny likes to fuck about, but Mysterion takes his job seriously. He doesn’t generally act like a blushing bimbo over a cute guy. Logic dictates that it’s Stan’s fault. It can’t be Kenny’s.

“Hey!” Kenny protests too late in a tone too similar to his normal voice. Quickly he clears his throat, pulling on that affected tone he wears every night. “Enough of that shit. You need to get home and I have other people to save.”

“Can’t you keep saving me?” Stan drawls, his eyes heavy as they stare up at Kenny.

In response, Kenny curls his hand around Stan’s and jerks him to his feet. Stan grunts at the sudden motion and for a moment Kenny worries that he’s about to hurl down the front of his uniform. The moment passes, but Stan looks the worse for wear, paper-white in the sickly fluorescent lighting. 

It’s with great care they make their way to the address on Stan’s ID. Stan stumbles and wavers like an oversized toddler, except unlike a toddler he weighs as much as fully grown man and Kenny comes far too close to falling in a heap with him on more than one occasion.

 Kenny isn’t sure how long it takes them. He guesstimates that Stan’s place is around three-quarters of a mile from the bench where he’d rifled through Stan’s pockets. On a good day that would take him no more than fifteen minutes of good-paced walking. He’s fairly certain that escorting Stan has taken something closer to fifty minutes than fifteen. 

Throughout their walk, Stan’s hands touch and skim. When trying for an ass-grab nearly fells them both, he opts instead for a titty-grope, kneading his open palm against the chest of Kenny’s suit, just over the peak of the ‘M’. Kenny grits his teeth and puts up with it for a while until he bats Stan’s hand aside.

“I’m not a fucking chick, dude,’ he grunts.

“I know that,” Stan whines, sounding far more offended than he should. “But I thought guys were sensitive here too.”

“Some can be in the right situations,” Kenny says. “And you molesting me as I escort you home isn’t exactly cool. I really hope you _don’t_ do this to women.”

“No!” Stan protests, suddenly a little more sober in his tone. “I’d never do that to a woman. I’ve basically only ever been with the same girl forever anyway, and I never cheated.”

“Okay,” Kenny says, a little softer. “Okay, sorry I said that but man or woman, you shouldn’t be copping feels. I’m not a piece of meat.” And by God does that ever sound weird coming out of Kenny’s mouth.

Regardless of how ridiculous the entire situation is, Stan falls quiet. When Kenny glances over to check he’s still conscious he finds Stan looking sad instead.

“Uh,” Kenny says, thrown by the sudden mood shift. “Come on, man. I know you’ve had a drink but dial it back a bit. You don’t need to be so pushy, or so forward. Chill a bit.” Kenny says it for his own sake as much as he does for Stan’s. Kenny is normally stuck in the role of pursuit, in costume and out of it. It does make a nice change to be so obviously wanted, especially by someone who is so very much up his street. He just wishes that it wasn’t coming from a guy who probably can’t piss straight.

“I’m sorry,” Stan says. It’s so soft that Kenny almost misses it.

“Huh?” Kenny says, twisting his head around to try and get a look at Stan’s face, but it’s hanging low and it’s angled away from him.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been acting like a douche. I just- I didn’t even care if those guys took my shit or beat me up. Everything just feels so pointless. But then you showed up and your ass is amazing and you’re so cool and strong and I just thought-”

Kenny shifts him further upright. “Come on, man. Things aren’t that bad. You’re just _really_ fucking drunk. You would have cared about being beaten up in the morning.”

"I'm sorry" Stan says again, voice thick with intoxication and emotion. "I guess it hit me hard. We've been together for years and I guess I just never saw us being over."

  
"That sucks man," Kenny says. "But throwing yourself at the first guy you see isn't going to make you feel better. Trust me I know."

  
"You know?" Stan says, and despite being drunk for a moment he looks stupefied. "But you're so hot, why would you need to?” He says it so matter-of-factly that Kenny can't help but blush. It's that same dumb blush from earlier. The one that is so out of place on a guy like Kenny.

  
"Yeah well so are you,” Kenny says, shoving the focus away from himself. He realises with sudden clarity that his characteristic, gruff Mysterion tone has long since dropped from his voice. Although he’s too drunk to realise it, Stan is one of the only people who is speaking to the Kenny beneath the mask. “Take your time, Stan,” he continues more softly. “And between me and you, if you're not experienced with other guys I wouldn't recommend jumping into bed with the first one you see."

  
It's Stan's turn to blush. It would be easily missable  considering the influence of alcohol, but definitely there, hot and vivid on his cheeks. "You think I'm hot?"

  
Kenny shifts his hold, awkwardly adjusting Stan’s weight. "After how thick you were laying it on earlier, are you seriously only just considering that possibility? _And_ that’s what you choose to focus on from what I said?” He adds as an afterthought.

  
"Well, yeah," Stan says quietly. And for the first time since he stepped in to stop a group of thugs from mugging Stan, Kenny realises that the treacle thickness has started to drop from Stan's voice. He looks tired. Still drunk, but not as far gone as earlier. Silence follows them, step after careful step. It’s not until a long while later that Kenny realises that he’s still waiting for Stan to say more.

  
They’re quiet for the rest of the journey. Stan still walks along in a zombie-like gait, but he doesn't wobble as much. Kenny suspects that the cold night air is slowly starting to help sober him up a little. That and their little heart-to-heart. He steals glances at him out of the corner of his eye, partially out of concern and partially to check him out. Stan doesn’t seem to notice though. He looks for all the world lost inside his own head.

Finally they stop before a small house which Kenny is certain is the right address. He jolts Stan lightly with a gentle nudge.

“Is this you?” He asks, careful not to startle him.

Stan blinks slowly, seemingly coming back into his own body. He stares at the house for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

“It’s not a bad place,” Kenny comments, starting up the little path to the front door. As he does, he notices a fairly sizeable hole in the front window, but since the shards are lying on the outside he chooses not to comment.

When they reach the door, Kenny flicks the front door mat with the toe of his shoe. Sure enough a key glints welcomingly in the light on the front porch. Rolling his eyes at how cliche and downright _unsafe_ that is, he moves to prop Stan up against the door frame.

“You okay for a moment?” He asks, keeping a firm hold on one of his arms. Stan squints at him and nods slowly. Kenny nods back and carefully relinquishes his grip before ducking down and scooping up the key. The first push doesn’t get him bey far, but when he flips the key over it slots in easily.

He’s already reaching for Stan as he swings the door open. This time Stan is steadier on his feet and only needs one guiding hand on his arm to make it safely inside. A dog wanders over as soon as they enter, tail wagging as he calmly wanders over to greet them. He looks like a mutt, but seems friendly enough, pressing his nose into Kenny’s hand when he offers it out.

“Hey boy,” he says softly, scratching the wide space between his floppy ears.

“That’s Terry,” Stan says. He reaches out for a fuss himself before he straightens up and pulls slowly away from Kenny’s grip.

“You want a coffee?” Stan asks, the familiarity of his home probably helping as he walks with more purpose than Kenny has seen all night towards what he assumes is the kitchen.

“That’s an overused line,” Kenny laughs.

Stan pauses, looking confused. “Huh?”

_“Do you want to stay for coffee_ ,” Kenny says, using air quotations for emphasis. “It usually means ‘ _do you want to fuck_.’”

To Kenny’s disbelief Stan blushes at that, looking rather flustered. Kenny’s smirk drops finding the reaction nothing like what he’d been expecting.

“Uh, considering you were pawing at me not half an hour ago, you’re looking pretty shocked there,” he says.

Stan’s flush deepens. “Oh yeah,” he says softly. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what I-” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I’m not like that usually, I swear.”

To Kenny’s surprise this side of Stan is oddly endearing. Almost _too_ endearing. It makes his heart stutter in his chest.

“You don’t have to apologise for being drunk,” Kenny replies. To be fair, Stan probably _should_ apologise given that he’d got so handsy without any express permission, but Kenny’s willing to cut the guy some slack. “It happens to us all.”

“Even superheroes?” Stan giggles. The sound is enough to remind Kenny that Stan _is_ still pretty drunk. Maybe not falling about drunk but he’s definitely not sober.

“Even superheroes,” Kenny agrees. And after a moment’s pause, he sits his ass down on the very plain, very practical sofa that dominates the living room. Terry stretches and doesn’t waste any time in curling up at his feet. “Okay. I’ll take that coffee.”

Stan smiles at that, his entire face lighting up in delight before he disappears beyond the door frame. In the clinks and clunks that follow, Kenny allows himself to reflect on that expression for just the slightest moment.

Scratch hot, Stan is _cute_ which is even better because Kenny fucking loves cute things. For the first time that evening he feels his prick grow interested in what Stan has put on offer. He quickly schools himself though. Regardless of anything else, Stan is drunk and Kenny is definitely not a rapist.

He’s just about wrangled his boner under control when Stan returns with two steaming cups. Gratefully he reaches out to take one, blowing on the surface to cool it down. Stan flops beside him and mirrors his actions, although Kenny notices with some concern that he now seems to be keeping his distance.

The silence stretches on as they drink. Kenny rapidly finds his renewed interest in Stan dissipate beneath awkwardness.

He’s almost finished his cup before he turns to Stan and asks: “Are you still worrying about coming on to me?”

Stan splutters, a dark shade of red streaking over his nose. “Oh fuck me,” he groans. Hesitantly, he looks over at Kenny and nods a tiny nod. “Totally, dude.”

“It happens,” Kenny says, trying not to feel disappointed. “A lot of bi-curious guys make a move when they’re drunk and regret it later.”

“What?” Stan says, eyes widening. “I’m not _bi-curious_ . I’m _bisexual._ And I didn’t make moves at you just because I’m drunk. You’re just- oh my god _look_ at you. You’re ripped as shit, and you’re wearing that sexy mask and you were nice to my dog. And you’re famous and you saved my ass from getting hurt. You’re, like, you’re-” he breaks off, moving his hands wildly to find the words. “You’re incredible.”

Despite himself, Kenny finds himself blushing in response and feels extremely glad that he’s wearing a mask. His cock twitches with renewed interest.

Without thinking, he places his mug carefully on the arm of the sofa. Then he twists, resting his hand on the back, near to Stan’s head. Slowly, so as not to startle him, Kenny leans in. His intent is obvious and he can tell from the way Stan’s eyes widen that it’s not being mistaken for anything else.

When he’s less than a foot away, Kenny pauses and looks Stan deep in the eyes. “I want to kiss you. Is that okay?”

“Oh fuck,” Stan breathes. “Yeah. Totally okay.”

“You sure? You’re not too drunk?” Kenny says, searching Stan for anything that might indicate that he’s too far gone.

Stan shakes his head. “I’m not too drunk,” he breathes.

Kenny nods, satisfied that Stan is at an appropriate level of tipsiness where his judgement isn’t _too_ compromised.

He pushes in the rest of the way, lips colliding with a soft force as his free hand comes up to cup the back of Stan’s head. He curls his fingers in his hair and tugs lightly. Stan gasps in response and he uses the opportunity to cautiously press his tongue in. Stan meets him after a moment’s pause, sliding the flat of his tongue against Kenny’s. The motion makes Kenny moan quietly in delight. Despite being buzzed, Stan isn’t too sloppy. The kiss is wet and sensual without degrading into awkward mouthing.

They kiss for long, slow minutes, losing themselves in its simplicity as time ticks by. Without much thought, they gradually twist and move. Kenny leans in closer, Stan slumps against the back of the sofa. Kenny throws a thigh over Stan’s, Stan pulls him closer with one hand on his lower back. It’s all so slow, and natural that neither are particularly aware that they’re moving into a slightly more serious position until Stan’s back hits the seat and bewildered he’s blinking up at Kenny.

Kenny pauses for a moment, bearing most of his weight down on his own hands which are spread on either side of Stan’s head.

“Sorry, man,” he says, voice husky with arousal. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Kenny goes to say more, probably some more assurances or that sort of thing when Stan reaches up with both hands and splays them across the back of Kenny’s head and on his ass. Then, with a strength that throws Kenny for a moment, Stan bodily drags him down atop himself and reconnects their mouths in a hungry kiss.

It takes Kenny a second to adjust, his stunned surprise falling away into something warmer and centred in his balls. He can feel Stan’s own cock, thick and stiff and trapped against his left thigh. It’s a welcome sensation, not least because Kenny is sporting his own, but he also figures that if Stan is able to get hard, he’s probably not too blind drunk to consent.

Still, he pauses in his ministrations, pulling his lips up just enough so the thin string of spit between them breaks. “You still okay to be doing shit like this?”

“Urgh?” Stan grunts, eyes blown and hazy.

“I’m getting pretty horny here,” Kenny says. He angles his hips and ruts once against the bump of Stan’s dick. It drags a sexy, little grunt from Stan’s open mouth and for a moment all Kenny wants to do is shove his dick in there. He shakes the thought away with mild regret and schools himself into focussing up again. “So I’m gonna need you to look me in the eye and say that you’re okay with this, and that if something becomes _not_ okay you tell me.”

Stan groans in frustration, tipping his hips up for more contact. “Dude, I’m not a chick,” he answers impatiently.

Kenny shifts a hand to Stan’s shoulder, pinning it to the sofa. “It’s not just chicks who get assaulted, Stan. Drunk people are vulnerable, regardless of whether they’ve got a dick or a pussy.”

Stan stares back at him for a moment. His eyes are still dark and dominated by his pupils, but Kenny fancies that at least some of his words got through because for the first time this evening, Stan looks thoughtful. “Okay,” he says in a tone akin to surrender. “Okay, I’m still buzzed but I’m definitely gonna remember this in the morning.”

“Without regret?” Kenny smirks, allowing himself to drop back down a fraction of an inch.

Stan’s eyes immediately focus on his lips, his own pair parting delectably in anticipation. “Uhuh.”

Figuring it consent enough for his books, Kenny dips back down, taking up the invitation and sinking his tongue back between Stan’s lips. Their tongues roll and slide as Stan’s hands stroke wherever they can reach, mapping the planes of Kenny’s back and caressing the sinewy muscle they find. One hand finds its way back into Kenny’s hair, dragging a shiver out of him as Stan’s nail’s scratch against his scalp. Kenny circles his hips in response, very deliberately rubbing his stiff cock over Stan’s.

Stan breaks from the kiss, tossing his head back to release a breathy cry. Kenny swoops in without hesitation, pressing greedy kisses to the column of his throat and sucking over the bump of Stan’s adam’s apple.

“Oh fuck,” Stan groans, holding the u and dragging it into a sensual sound. He scratches at Kenny’s scalp again, pausing when his fingers find the knot of his mask.

When Stan’s fingers hover there for too long, Kenny throws his head up dislodging Stan’s hand. “Ah, ah,” he chides. “The mask stays on, Stan.”

Stan huffs, but doesn’t look too annoyed. “It sucks that I can’t see your face though.”

“That’s the point of having a superhero identity,” Kenny smiles. In all honesty he probably _could_ show Stan. It isn’t like the real Kenny is famous or well-known, but the principle of it all is part of Kenny’s core ethos as a superhero. Mysterion is a figure. The kind of figure that South Park needs. He’s not the man beneath the mask. Not even for a cute guy with pretty blue eyes and a stiff dick. Although, honestly the mask and the costume is about all that remains of Mysterion at the moment. Kenny realises that he dropped the whole act as soon as he walked into Stan’s house. “If it’s a deal-breaker for you then we’re gonna have to stop.”

“No!” Stan says so quickly he has enough time to look embarrassed about it. “I mean, uh, no. It’s fine. I can handle the mask. I mean, I guess it’s kind of hot?”

Kenny can’t help but laugh at that. Despite all the drunk bravado earlier, Stan really is surprisingly sweet. “You are not how I thought you were gonna turn out.”

“Oh,” Stan says, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Sorry about that.”

Smiling fondly, Kenny dips to kiss him. “Nah,” he says softly. “I like this much more. I was kinda thinking about fucking earlier, but I don’t think you’re ready for that sort of thing. Especially not with a masked stranger, so are you okay with me giving you a handjob?”

Stan’s eyes bulge. He nods dumbly a moment later, head bobbing up and down like an out of control jack-in-the-box.

Still smiling, Kenny lifts up, and pulls his loves off, settling them on the back of the sofa. Then he slides his naked hands down the front of Stan’s shirt, walking his fingertips down to the waist of his jeans. He pops the button on Stan’s jeans open and carefully pulls the zipper down, careful not to catch him in case he’s gone commando. Stan lifts his hips and Kenny takes it as invitation to shimmy his jeans down to his thighs. A moment later, he reaches into Stan’s boxers, and circles his palm around the heat of his fat cock. Stan hisses softly in response, lifting his hips up into it. Kenny takes that as another unspoken permission and carefully pulls his dick free of his boxers, which had felt altogether far too humid with sweat.

Once free, Kenny drops his gaze to eye it appreciatively. It’s thick. Cut, too. The tip slick with wet already, smooth and flushed so dark it looks almost purple in the low light. It makes Kenny’s mouth water, and briefly he considers blowing him, before thinking better of it. If he starts going down that path he’ll end up going to town on his balls and his ass too, and much as he’s not acting like it right now, he _is_ still Mysterion and he _does_ still have work to do before the sun begins to rise.

“I’m flattered that you’re already so hard,” Kenny says as he wraps his palm around it into a loose fist and begins jerking him slowly.

Stan’s eyes flutter shut, his head arching back as his hips twitch in response. “Sorry… it’s been a while,” he breathes.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Kenny grins. “It’s good for a guy’s ego.”

“Don’t you save people every- _oh,”_ Whatever Stan is trying to say is lost as soon as Kenny starts introducing a twisting motion every time his fist closes over the head of Stan’s dick, gathering the dewy beads of precum that pool at the tip on the palm of his hand.

“I do save people most days, but I’m still a guy,” Kenny says casually, as if he hasn’t got a guy cooing and sighing under him. “It’s still nice to know you’ve got someone good and horny from the power of kisses alone.”

“Uhuh,” Stan breathes, tossing his arm over his eyes as he begins to pant. Kenny glances down at the dick in his hand and laments once again over how much he wants to take it into his mouth. Maybe some other time. In the unlikely event he meets this guy again.

“You’ve got a pretty dick,” he says instead, sitting up and using his free hand to scratch a line from Stan’s naval to the base of his dick, following dark, wiry hairs like he’s travelling a secret path.

“Thanks,” Stan manages around a groan. “But could I at least see yours?”

“It’s awkward for me with the uniform,” Kenny says as his hand stills on Stan’s prick. He regrets his style choice daily. Usually when he needs to piss in a hurry. “Here, give me your hand,” he says, holding his hand out to Stan, palm up.

Unquestioningly, Stan places his hand in Kenny’s palm. Slowly Kenny leads it to the leg of the boxer shorts he wears over his superhero tights. Then he guides Stan’s fingers to slip inside, pressing them gently over the shape of his own stiff cock.

“You’re hard too,” Stan says, as if marvelling the fact.

“Well yeah,” Kenny smiles, enjoying the sensation, no matter how dulled down by his clothing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Stan shrugs in response and looks away. It’s not the reaction that Kenny is hoping for, but he doesn’t know the guy well enough to push at his insecurities. He can only find them utterly ridiculous.

“Well,” he says. “When I’m out of uniform I’m definitely going to be jerking it to the thought of this guy I met this evening.” At Stan’s surprised look, Kenny reaches down for Stan’s dick once again, wrapping his hand firmly back around it and resuming his motions from before. “At first I thought he was a cocky asshole, but when he started to sober up I found out that he was actually kind of adorable.”

Stan only moans in response, throwing his arm back over his eyes. Under his ass, Kenny can feel Stan’s thighs tensing and can hear the sound of him dragging his feet against the sofa. The cock in his hand swells. Kenny doesn’t let up, alternating between smooth massages and firm jerks until Stan is whimpering helplessly.

Overhead the sound of thunder rolls over them. Distantly Kenny remembers that a storm was due. Lightning flashes somewhere in the distance, adding something primal to the frantic way that Kenny is jacking Stan’s cock. The thunder stirs him, in his belly and his balls and he comes so, _so_ close to breaking then. To tearing his uniform off and painting this lovely man with cum until he’s saturated with it. But he can’t, because he is Mysterion and he has to put others first. So instead he focuses his entire being on the sound of thunder and the gorgeous slick sounds coming from Stan’s dick, and the beautiful soft sounds escaping from his throat.

“That’s it,” Kenny breathes, voice heavy with sex. “Let go.”

Stan tenses up beneath him, relaxing a moment later as his dick begins to bob and spurt in Kenny’s hand. The first glob his his fist, sliding down over his knuckles. He doesn’t let up his pace, jerking Stan through his orgasm until he’s twitching beneath him, stomach muscles straining as he begins to grow over-stimulated.

Before he can push too far, Kenny lets go of him and sits back, casting about for a tissue. Stan, still panting, wriggles bonelessly and manages to yank his shirt up and off over his head. He tosses his shirt to Kenny without any real strength and flops back, panting as Kenny uses it to wipe his hand off. Once done Kenny tosses it to the floor, relieved when he notes for the first time, that Terry seems to have exited the room at some point. Kenny likes dogs well enough, but he doesn’t exactly want a canine audience when he’s giving a guy a handy.

Stan is still panting for breath when Kenny climbs off him. He pulls his gloves back on and reaches down to adjust his boner. Stan watches him with tired interest as he does, chest rising softly up and down with breaths that are slowly calming down.

“Are you sure I can’t do something for you?” Stan asks, voice gruff and post-orgasmic.

“Nah,” Kenny says. “I’ll take care of it later. I got plenty of imagery to take home with me.”

Stan nods, but looks disappointed. He sits up slowly, lifting his hips up to pull his pants back up, carefully tucking his dick back into place.

“Um,” he starts, looking a little flustered. “Will I ever see you again, Mysterion?”

“You should hope not,” Kenny says. “You’ll generally only see me if you’re in trouble, or if you’re causing trouble.”

“Oh,” Stan says. His shoulders sink. With them, Kenny’s heart sinks too.

“I don’t regret this, but I still shouldn’t have done it,” Kenny says. It’s far too late to be saying it now, of course. It’s not like him to let Kenny rule the roost when he’s in his Mysterion gear, but he’s only human. “I never usually sleep with the people I’ve helped.”

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” Stan is quick to say. “I definitely wanted it.”

“I know,” Kenny says. “But it complicates things. I’m a figure, Stan and tonight I broke that for you. It was totally worth it for me, by the way, but it can affect how people see me.”

“I won’t tell a soul,” Stan whispers.

Kenny smiles at that. Stan is just so damned _sweet_. It makes him want a second round. “Thanks, I’d appreciate that,” he says instead. “It was great though. For what it’s worth, I think you’re great and I hope you find someone who’ll appreciate you. Just don’t approach them drunk.”

Stan grimaces at that. “Okay, point taken.”

Then, in a way that Kenny will look back on later and give himself serious kudos for, Kenny sweeps in with a flick of his cape. He snatches Stan’s jaw with his fingers and presses a firm kiss to his lips.

“Stay out of trouble,” Kenny says, once again adopting his gruff, gravelly superhero voice.

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the lashing rain, back out into the night and back onto the streets.

 

—  
  
  


Despite feeling almost totally sober by the time Mysterion leaves with a flamboyant swish of his cape, Stan can’t help but feel like the entire thing has been a fantastic dream.

The thought leaves him cold, the last dreamy whisper of post-orgasm haze dissipating before his eyes. Before he knows it, he’s back to normalcy. Back to loneliness.

He heaves a sigh and stares ahead, still slumped on his sofa. For some reason he can’t place, his eyes fix on the hole in his window. He needs to get it fixed. He was lucky that no one had broken in when he was out.

With a grunt, Stan pulls himself up from the sofa. Despite being 4:17AM, he gets up and heads through his kitchen and into his garage to collect a number of tools. Overhead the storm grows louder and the lighting flickers more intense, but Stan pays it no mind.

He’s sure it won’t affect him in any way.

 


End file.
